


In a crowd of thousands

by dutchmoxie



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Childhood Friends, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-19 11:37:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11312589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dutchmoxie/pseuds/dutchmoxie
Summary: In that crowd of thousands / I'd find her againAt a gala for college athletes, Brienne runs into her childhood friend and favorite knight.





	In a crowd of thousands

Brienne of Tarth had no problems going unnoticed - in fact, she really did prefer it. Anyone who noticed her would only point and laugh - there was always laughter when the audience finally noticed that she was actually a woman. 

She was aware of her unfortunate looks, and she’d learned to accept them. She knew her height made it even more impossible for her to stay unnoticed, was aware that her figure was not particularly womanly. But she was also aware that her lips, although chapped, were full and kissable, and that her clear blue eyes reminded of the ocean hitting the coast of her homeland. 

Her self esteem had been difficult to gain, but she’d grown with every perfectly spiked ball, with every compliment from her coach, and with every perfect grade keeping her on her scholarship. 

Still, those things also made her stand out, and led to unfortunate nights such as this one, attending a gala for King’s Landing’s best college athletes with the other girls. Their coach, the incomparable Catelyn Stark, had made them, reminding them to behave because “opportunities like these come along so rarely for women’s sports”. 

Sansa, the coach’s daughter and their libero, had nodded before pleading with Brienne to please let her and Margaery (their flirtatious setter) do something about her Look. Yes, the capital L had been audible even then. 

And that was how Brienne had come to wear a gleaming gold dress that, while accentuating her long muscled legs, made her afraid to bend over for fear of being even more noticeable than she already was. 

Wearing GOLD, at a party in King’s Landing? When one wasn’t associated with the Lannisters, it was sure to get one noticed. At least, according to Margaery, who kept up with the Kettleblacks and the Lannisters and everyone in between. Brienne? Not so much. Not at all. 

“It must be!” an excited voice behind her. “Who else is that tall?”

Oh no. Oh no. She did not expect the mocking to begin just minutes after she walked into the expensively decorated ballroom. 

“Brienne of Tarth,” the smirk was almost audible. “I would recognize you anywhere.” 

First, she took a deep breath. Sure, the voice sounded vaguely familiar, but since she could not place it, it could just as easily be a Red Ron (high school nightmare) instead of a Renly (high school crush). She had to be prepared for the mocking, even though she actually felt kind of pretty in this getup. 

The man was beautiful - there was no other word for him. He wore his dark grey suit well, his hair longer than was fashion, but it suited him somehow. His facial hair somewhere between just scruff and a beard, mouth pulled into a smirk that reminded her of times long forgotten, when Mother and Galladon... No. 

“Even in a crowd of thousands, I’d know those eyes,” the man did not seem to see her confusion. 

He lifted her bodily - he was just a few inches shorter than she was in her heels - and twirled her around the crowded room, roaring with laughter all the while. 

“That used to be much easier,” he put her down, barely breaking a sweat. “I guess you were right about me being old.” 

Even now there was something in her that wanted to laugh along, to remember a joke long gone from memory. Another part of her was just concerned about how many people had been able to look under her skirt as he twirled her like a child, and a third part of her was still stuck on how solid he had felt, so close to her. 

“You,” she stammered, trying desperately to connect the dots with her brain still so frazzled. “Old man?” 

Another laugh - how was it that he was so happy to see her and she still had no inkling of who this man was? She had met him before, she could feel that. But how, when and where? There was just nothing. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten all about me,” he pressed a hand against his chest, feigning pain. “All those summers in your palace by the sea? Surely you are still as smart as ever, my lady knight.” 

Oh! It all hit her in a flash, the teenage boy chasing her with a plastic sword, her giggles as she tried to keep up with a young man eight years her senior. 

“Kingslayer,” she happily exclaimed, the old nickname coming to her lips too easily after years without it. 

He had fought the mad King and freed her so they could fight together, so they could save the innocent. He was the only one who indulged her love of sword fights and heroic tales - he didn’t even mind being saddled with this kid when he could be out with people his own age. 

“Brienne the Beauty,” he bowed. 

It still looked so regal, as if his father’s tales of them being descended from royalty had actual merit to it. Her responding curtsey was much less fluid - she hadn’t done this in a decade, ever since The Accident, when his father had forbidden him from returning. God forbid something would happen to his precious favorite son. 

“Jaime,” she leapt at him, and he caught her as always. 

“I always wondered where you’d end up,” he spoke, voice low and tickling her ear. “I hoped I’d find you here. You were always better than anyone else on the Island, in this city.” 

Wrapped around him, she was fully aware that it was probably unseemly that she had pressed herself against Jaime Lannister. But it had been ten years at least since she’d last seen him, half a world away on Tarth. 

“I have missed you,” she said the words and realized just how very true they were. 

“No other knights willing to fight for you?” Jaime was still teasing her, much as he used to once upon a time. 

There were no more knights left on the island after he left, no true knights in the Stormlands where she’d gone to high school, and no knights in King’s Landing until now. Not like her childhood friend and idol. 

“No one like you,” the admission came so easily. 

“There are no men like me,” he boasted, the words familiar as an old song she used to know. “Only me.” 

She huffed like she used to, rolling her eyes at his words while she knew they were truth. He had his flaws, even as a child she’d known that, but he’d never looked down on her even though he could have done so very easily. He’d been so very dear to her then, and his response to seeing her again after all this time told her that he’d held her in his heart all this time as well. 

“By the Gods, this dress,” Jaime took her in, eyes dark. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing to the poor athletes tonight?” 

Sure, it was a jape, but certainly not at her expense. 

“What you’re doing to me?” he continued. “I’m just an old man, Brienne. Have mercy on me.” 

The look on his face was new - she’d seen it directed at Margaery from a whole host of boys, seen it sent in Sansa’s direction until Brienne had scared them off, but she had never seen someone look at her like this. And now someone was, and it was _Jaime_. Vain, proud, stubborn, insecure Jaime, who was never sure if he had friends because of his family and wealth, or because of the hero lurking underneath. 

“I’m sure you can handle it,” she brushed it off, smiling all the while. 

His hand has made its way around her waist again, and for a brief moment she remembered the summer he’d broken his wrist so badly the doctors had worried about him ever using it normally again. But the vision from the past was brief - they were adults now. Jaime seemed ever so aware that she was all grown up now, old enough to purchase her own mead or wine. 

Not that alcohol appeared to be on his mind when he looked at her. 

“You made a friend,” Sansa disturbed the electric current running between Jaime’s eyes and whatever part of Brienne’s body they could reach. “I was worried you’d snuck out and left us!” 

Jaime’s response to the intrusion was to pull her even closer to his side, reluctant to share her with anyone after all the time spent apart. 

“Jaime’s an old friend,” she almost winced at how similar she sounded to some vapid socialite. “He used to visit me on Tarth every summer.” 

Sansa knew the stories, had idealized and romanticized them all until it led to some magical, enchanting reunion that in turn led to a happily ever after. It was why her friend’s eyes were wide and almost teary. 

“Sir Jaime,” Sansa smiled tearfully. “I’m so glad you found each other again, after all this time.” 

There was swooning in Sansa’s future, and Brienne was happy to let her friend have those fantasies. In her worst moments, after the bet, she’d dreamed that Jaime would return to set everyone straight and to sweep her off her feet. She couldn’t blame Sansa for doing the same. 

“Have you been telling your friends about me, Brienne?” Jaime practically purred, and she shivered. 

He appeared pleased at the effect he had on her, and that lit the flame of competitiveness that had gotten her in so much trouble as a child. She was not going to let him pretend he was not all that affected by her in return. 

“Sansa, please excuse us,” Brienne smiled to make the message seem kinder. “It seems I have to curtail the old man’s little fantasies.” 

Her words would not offend Jaime - but he was ready to rise to the bait, muttering under his breath about how there was nothing little about any part of his fantasies. It made her flush all over, still getting used to this new awareness of him that seemed to exist inside her. 

“It was nice meeting you,” Sansa, ever polite, chirped before she ran off in Margaery’s direction for a good gossip session. 

She’d be hearing about this for the next few years, she was sure of that. She was also sure that she wouldn’t mind it at all. 

“I dreamed of you,” Jaime pulled her close again, whispering the inappropriate words in her ear. “And I will dream of you in this dress.” 

Oh, she had to learn to grow immune to his words, to his voice, or she’d be blushing for the rest of her life. If only she would be around him often enough to be flushed red for the rest of her days. 

“Dance with me?” he pleaded, unwilling to let her go. 

“Don’t step on my toes,” she teased, remembering footwork exercises gone awry. 

Not even Jaime Lannister was graceful all of the time - but he was ever so graceful now. 

“I wouldn’t dare, my lady,” he led her onto the dance floor and held on tight as the one-two-three of the waltz began. 

They would not get lost in the crowd, they stood out too much. And as a thousand people mixed and mingled, theirs was a perfect beginning. 


End file.
